


we’re pretty much the same (give or take a billion years)

by pseudoanalytics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Falling In Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sakaarian Parties, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), gratuitous usage of jeff goldblum’s speech patterns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/pseuds/pseudoanalytics
Summary: “Your favorites are usually so... disposable,” Topaz grits out.The Grandmaster picks at a chipping blue nail, his mouth set grimly. “Oh, no. He’s... This is a fleeting thing. Don’t worry. He’ll be gone in a week or so.”She nods, satisfied for now. “A week then.”“Topaz... How long have we known each other? You really think anything, even this mystery, could keep me entertained for longer than that? He’ll be melted in a week.”In retrospect, she doesn’t know why she ever believed him.





	we’re pretty much the same (give or take a billion years)

**Author's Note:**

> put topaz in more fic cowards

Topaz is glaring out the enormous window, watching Scrapper-142 _finally_ leave, when she notices it.

The Devil’s Anus is red and angry as usual. A destructive maelstrom that threatens to consume the entire planet of Sakaar, and it probably would to, if the Grandmaster wasn’t here to actively hold it at bay (though Topaz admits that sounds a bit dramatic, considering the fact he restrains it with such a minute fraction of his power that it hardly counts as actively doing _anything_ ).

She’s not actually looking at the portal, preoccupied with watching that obnoxious Asgardian finally peel away from the docking bay, but it’s nearly impossible to miss when it happens.

The Anus pulses and shudders and expels a single object from its depths, and the resulting shockwave reverberates all the way to the tower, rattling the metal and glass.

“Whoa. Now _what_ was that? That... that sounded big. Topaz, what happened?” The Grandmaster is as eloquent as ever, and Topaz sighs as she passes him the Matter Elimination and Liquefaction Tool he so lovingly has dubbed the MELT stick.

“Something fell out of the Devil’s Anus,” she tells him. Various frilly headed prisoners shuffle off to ready her ship. Maybe she can bag this one before Scrapper-142 gets wind of it first.

“Well, well go get it,” he said excitedly. He rubs his hands together briskly and turns sideways in his chair, kicking his legs up over the arm of it like a giant kid. “You know, I have been... so _bored_ lately. This might- this could be _exactly_ the entertainment I’ve been looking for. No public execution tonight!”

Personally, Topaz would prefer a public execution, but she’s in no mood to argue. “I’ll bring it back as quickly as possible,” she says as she leaves the hall.

“Uh huh! Yeah, y-you do that!”

She will.

Her ship is warmed up and purring, and she peels out of the hanger fast enough to break the sound barrier. The sharp crack brings a taut, rare smile to her face.

The base of the Anus is just far enough that she has time to think. Hopefully it will be something truly bizarre. Something unique. Maybe, dare she hope, something better than his champion so that he might at last stop reminding her of exactly who brought that hulking, green beast to him.

But a softer, deeply hidden side of her wants to see him happy. She hates when he’s bored. The whole planet does. Of course they hate it because his boredom might mean their deaths, but Topaz has no fear of the Grandmaster.

He’s unpredictable, unreliable, and completely eccentric, but she knows him too well for much to surprise her anymore. She’d go as far as to call him her only friend, but she doesn’t do friends anyway.

A falling heap of metal nearly clips her wing and pulls her from her thoughts. Topaz steers left and heads toward the rocky outcrops under the Devil’s Anus.

She quickly finds the source of the shockwave.

The stone here is white and chalky, polished smooth from brutal winds and harsh waves. The object is dark, with a hint of emerald green. A dirty smear on the clean rock face.

She lands next to it.

Please be amazing. Please be exciting. Please be a _monster_.

It groans and lifts its head, peering out from under a veil of greasy, black hair.

Pathetic.

It’s plain and ugly, baring a hint of its teeth and drawing a dagger seemingly from thin air.

It won’t entertain the Grandmaster for any longer than its lungs can sustain a scream.

She throws an obedience disk at its neck, watches it start in surprise, then gurgle pitifully as it succumbs to pulses of electricity surging through its form.

It drops facedown, and Topaz grabs a handful of the shredded green leather it’s wearing.

Its feet kick the knife it materialized, the metal clinking shrilly as it topples into a crevice.

She drags it up the ramp and onto her ship, not paying much mind if she hits its long limbs on the way up. It remains unconscious by her feet.

Whatever. She tried.

The flight back seems far faster without the suspense of discovery on her mind.

She hauls the limp body into the grand hall, waving away attendants who offer her a chair to strap it into.

“No need,” she snaps. “It wouldn’t stay alive long enough to be entertaining.”

They frown and make sounds of disappointment that quickly dissipate when someone brings out a fresh tray of drinks.

“Topaz!” the Grandmaster drawls, stretching her name into a five second long affair. “Whatcha got there? Is it good?”

“It’s garbage.” She lugs it forward and lets the arms slap against the smooth floor.

“Mmhm.” The Grandmaster narrows his eyes in thought, idly bringing his fist to his mouth and resting his index finger on his lip. “Would you— Give it a flip, would you? Turn it over.”

She wedges her toe under its shoulder to turn it with as much disdain as she can manage.

“Oh ho! Now what... what _do_ we have _here_!” Topaz cracks a hint of a grin at his excitement. “Wow. Wow wow wow. Look at this! What the heck is this?” He crouches next to it, throwing his golden robe out behind himself so he doesn’t step on it. With a single long finger, the Grandmaster tilts its chin to make it face him. Then he runs the digit quickly down the creature’s nose. “I love it. I really do. Y-you _always_ deliver, Topaz.” He huffs a happy sigh and stands up. “Well. Okay, clean this mess up. I want this thing awake and washed up.”

He doesn’t tell her to supervise, but she decides she will anyway. There’s something about its face that she really doesn’t trust.

Her caution is well founded because the second it regains consciousness mid-bath, it makes a wild bid for escape, knocking back the main attendant with a flail of its arms. She suspects it has been awake for several minutes now, biding its time and analyzing its situation.

“Let _go_ of me!” it curses, and she can’t very well shock it again right now. The electricity would spread through the water and knock out everyone restraining it too.

Oh well. She’s always preferred the hands-on approach.

Twisting her hand into its wet, black hair, she wrenches it up until it has to stand on tiptoe to avoid her tearing out her tangled fistful. She brings her other hand up to its throat, squeezing just enough to threaten.

It doesn’t speak.

It’s looking up at her through narrowed eyes, bottom teeth jutted forward and nostrils flared as it pants in anger. She doesn’t let go.

“The Grandmaster said to clean this thing up,” Topaz reminds the frightened... workers.

It thrashes briefly when their sponges first touch it again, but a warning clench around its neck stills it. She keeps it suspended on its toes until they finish.

What did the Grandmaster see in this ratty creature she wonders. It tugs back on its dirty leather clothing and doesn’t fight when she leads it back to the hall.

The silver and blue chair is facing away from them when they enter, but the second they reach it, the Grandmaster spins slowly around, fingers steepled together and an impassive look on his face.

“Hmm. Yes. Well... He certainly looks better now. He? I presume?”

It squints warily back. “Yes. I’m a he.”

“Uh huh. And uh, so does— does _he_ have a name?”

“I’m Loki. King of... Prince of...” He trails off.

“Ohhhhh. King Loki? Yep, yep, I’m sure. You certainly _look_ like royalty.”

Loki derisively tosses his still damp hair and half shrugs. “To be honest, I’m not completely sure who I am anymore.”

“Mm. Well.” The Grandmaster stands up and stretches until his lower back pops and his face melts into one of pure pleasure. “Well, _you_ , my new friend, are in luck, because I uh, I— I know _exactly_. What. You are.” He walks over and brings his hands up near Loki’s shoulders. After a moment’s hesitation, he claps them down and spins Loki around. “You’re _mine_ now. And uh, nothing of mine is going to be seen in public wearing...” He gestures at Loki’s clothes.

Topaz sees the moment this _thing_ figures it out. His expression turns from cautious fury to a sly smirk.

“Oh, _thank_ _you_ ,” Loki purrs. “Your generosity is unmatched.”

The Grandmaster quirks a smile at him, and their eyes lock.

Topaz feels the tension as acutely as she feels the urge to break it, but before she can say or do anything, the Grandmaster raises a single hand to silence her.

“It’s okay,” he mouths at her and steers Loki away.

Whatever. She knows he can more than handle himself. She’ll check in with him in an hour anyway.

Until then, there are workers to direct and a party to prepare for, and if there’s one thing she can do well, Topaz knows how to throw a party. While not much of one for festivities herself, she understands the Grandmaster’s odd tastes and flair and she makes the plans appropriately.

Her circuitous route to various workstations leads her from the kitchen to the loading bay to the expansive lounge before she swings by the tailor’s quarters.

She’s not worried about him.

Just... curious.

She quietly steps through the doors directly behind where the Grandmaster is sitting. He’s looking at Loki, dressed now in a colorful array of blue and purple leathers, obedience disk gone.

“Oh, that’s good. That’s really good,” he says, a smile obvious in his voice.

Topaz stares Loki down, and he glowers back cooly.

The Grandmaster notices his new acquisition’s distraction and glances over his shoulder.  
“Jeez!” he shouts, jolting in his seat. “Holy— Topaz, how— how many times have I said not to do that. Give me a heart attack... Wow.” He takes a moment to straighten his collar and pat down his hair. “Well? What do you think?”

“You look fine,” she says back, deadpan.

He looks briefly confused before he laughs. “Isn’t she— isn’t she just the best?” he asks the practically empty room. “I look fine. Heh. Thank you, but uh, what about him? Hmm? He looks good, right?”

She gives a lazy shrug. “I’d prefer the side without his face.”

The Grandmaster laughs again, clapping. “Mmhm. Yes. You’re a woman with taste. Hey, Loki. Give us a spin, would ya?”

Loki seems incredulous, and it only seems to thrill the Grandmaster, who twirls a finger in the air as encouragement. Resigned, Loki sticks his arms out and gives a awkward turn until he’s facing them again.

“Oh, yes. Now that’s what I’m talking about. Slap a cape on this guy and let’s get going.” The Grandmaster claps his hands then leans back to look at Topaz. “You did good. He’s a fun one.”

“How could you possibly know that?” she sighs. “He seems like no fun at all.”

“ _Pssh_. Nah, he’ll be— I’ll get him to loosen up. He’s just so... so _high-strung_. But I’ll get him. Don’t worry. That’s not the fun part.” He glances around surreptitiously, but the mannerism is so exaggerated it actually attracts attention, not that any of the workers stare at him for long. He beckons her closer with a curling finger, and Topaz sighs as she leans down to his level. “I’m sensing a little magic in this one.”

She’s still unimpressed. “We’ve had wizards more interesting than him here before.”

“Mm? Then why’s he under a super strong glamour?” The Grandmaster is grinning at Loki like he’s a meal to be devoured.

“Maybe he’s just ugly.”

“Hah! That’d be... something. But no, it’s much stronger than that. This is old magic. Not just his own.”

“So take a peek under it.”

The Grandmaster pulls back, scandalized. “And spoil the game? That’s— that’s cheating. No, I’ll figure this out the old fashioned way.” Then he stands and sweeps over to Loki, who is admiring his bright yellow cape. “Right this way, Loki. The party can’t start without its guest of honor. W-which is _you_ by the way.”

Topaz steps forward to catch Loki by the elbow. “Why don’t you go on ahead,” she tells the Grandmaster, all teeth. “Make sure the party arrangements are to your liking. I’ll just... catch Loki up on some of the customs around here.”

The Grandmaster is not fooled of course. “Okay. Don’t damage him!” he calls back to her as he sidles down the hallway.

Loki’s fake smile drops the moment they’re alone. “What do you want,” he snaps.

“You think you can take advantage of him.”

A slow, thin smirk starts to grow on his face. “Why _Topaz_ , is that _affection_ I detect?”

He won’t get to her that easily. “You think you can get close to him and overthrow him. Well, you can’t. He’s more powerful than any other living being in the multiverse. And you’re...” She makes sure to sweep her gaze up and down his form as if he were a particularly disappointing slab of meat. “You’re nothing.”

“Mm.” That smirk hasn’t vanished. If anything, it’s grown sharper. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. A shark testing for blood in the water. “I assume I’m not the first ambitious one to try to usurp him.” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and Topaz reads his micro-expressions with the skill only someone used to interpreting the Grandmaster’s indecipherable mannerisms could have.

They’re playing a battle of wits, but they can’t both play the fool for long.

Topaz is used to letting others underestimate her. It’s a tactic she wields like a melt stick of her own.

She plays the brawn to the Grandmaster’s scattered brains.

With a single step forward, she slams Loki back into the wall, her forearm pinning his chest back. Then she waits for his move. He doesn’t take long.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asks. “About my plan?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

And Loki actually laughs. He flexes slightly, testing her strength for a moment. “Because that would be cheating. You say he can win easily? That he can’t lose? Then don’t spoil this game for me.”

She presses just hard enough to hear his new clothes squeak against the wall. “Spoil the game,” she repeats dryly. They’re children, the both of them. “Fine, Loki. Enjoy your game.”

Topaz releases him, then drags him toward the lounge that’s already emanating electrofunk music through the entire tower. If the incessant plinking of a keyboard is to be believed, the Grandmaster is probably the one playing.

With a kick of her foot, she knocks the doors wide, accidentally tipping a couple of partygoers near the entrance.

The music stops and the Grandmaster looks up from his instrument, grinning wildly. “He’s here! Ah, uh, everyone! If I could have your attention for a moment! Yes, thank you, thank you. Uh, here he is! Tonight’s guest of honor, I give you... Loki!”

The tipsy crowd claps and cheers exuberantly, several drinks spilling to the floor in the excitement. The smooth marble is already wet and sticky, and Topaz knows from experience that by the time the night is over, everyone will have moved to one of the many couches to avoid slipping in the mess.

The Grandmaster claps his hands and a worker passes him a clear glass containing an emerald green liquid with a black film on top. The four bartenders around the room each start mixing several identical drinks, and the throng pushes to grab some.

Someone bumps hard into Topaz’s shoulder.

Scrapper-142 slides by, pulling down one lower eyelid with a finger and sticking out her tongue. She’s swaying as she walks backward toward a bar.

“Sloshed already?” Topaz shouts, but it’s impossible to hear over the din.

“Okay! Okay! Settle down!” The Grandmaster is standing on his couch, balancing with one hand on Loki’s shoulder and a microphone in the other. “A toast to our newest guest! To Loki!”

“To Loki!” the crowd bellows.

The Grandmaster’s hand taps Loki’s cheek and skims down one sharp cheekbone.

Topaz knows he’s testing the shape. A glamour couldn’t hide a drastically different facial shape from direct touch. He really is playing a game with his newest catch.

Loki seems suspicious, but he swallows his drink down anyway.

The Grandmaster finishes his own and shudders, looking down into the glass as he smacks his lips. “Phew. Glad that’s gone. Green and black really are the uh, most atrocious color combination.” He holds his hand out and just lets the glass drop carelessly. A waiter catches it effortlessly midair and walks away with a tray of empty cups.

Loki reaches out to put his on another waiter’s tray, and he stumbles a bit, tipping forward. His normally controlled expression cracks with his surprise.

“Stronger than you expected?” asks the Grandmaster, patting the seat next to him on the couch.

Topaz makes her way to his side, ready for her dual role as bodyguard and crowd control.

Loki keeps eye contact with her for a moment, but she mouths, “Lightweight,” at him and he visibly bristles.

“Oh, sit down already. You’re making me nervous,” the Grandmaster says, tugging on his cape.

Loki sits a little harder than he probably intended, half tipping into the Grandmaster’s lap.

Topaz is briefly afraid she’s in for a long night. Whenever the Grandmaster finds a particularly touchy-feely toy, she’s forced to endure hour upon hour of its attempts to seduce him.

But then it appears Loki is not that type, as he jolts up as quickly as he can, clearly embarrassed. The Grandmaster is doing his trademark odd, rhythmic laugh, reaching for another drink as he simultaneously suggests Loki slow down for a while.

The party drags on and on.

Scrapper-142 gets in a fight with a bartender who won’t let her drink straight from the bottle, and Topaz takes great pleasure in throwing her out while the Grandmaster isn’t looking.

Not that he’s doing much looking at anything that isn’t Loki.

She really doesn’t get it. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. Every party, every new “guest of honor.” They spend all night trying to capture and keep the Grandmaster’s untamable attention.

But Loki seems to be trying a different tactic. He’s charming the crowds, telling story after story of his childhood, though Topaz has her suspicions that each tale is liberally embellished. They sound more like stage plays than accurate depictions of true events. The crowd doesn’t seem to care, howling with laughter as he recounts a time he shape-shifted into a serpent to ambush his brother, or the time he tried to open a portal and release mayhem into an otherwise boring realm of the universe.

The Grandmaster can’t seem to look away. He isn’t wandering through the partygoers, checking that drinks are plentiful and spirits are high. He’s frozen to the couch, seemingly in a trance.

Loki finally breaks the spell by standing and stretching. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says with the liquid smile of a used spaceship salesman, “I need to use the facilities.” He starts to weave through the crowd, and they laugh and smile and tell him how fun and interesting he is, lavishing him in praise. The smile reaches his eyes for the first time all evening.

Somehow it makes Topaz hate him even more.

With the room distracted, she turns to the Grandmaster, sitting next to him to whisper discreetly in his ear.

“He’s certainly got your attention,” she says.

The Grandmaster lets out a low whistle and looks up at her through half-lidded eyes. “He’s sure something, isn’t he. Got quite the uh, quite a messy messy past. Bit of mean streak.” He huffs wistfully, staring off into the distance. “He lost his knife when you picked him up under the Anus. I’m going to, going to get him some new ones. Something fancy, but practical. I wanna spoil him rotten.”

Topaz makes sure he meets her eyes. “Be careful,” she says.

“Hmm? Be... be careful?”

“Be careful. He’s playing with you. You know it. I...” Her voice cracks a little, and she coughs harshly to cover it. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Hah. You seem to forget. I’m banished from Death’s realm. I can’t die.”

That wasn’t what she meant, but Loki is coming back now, and her time is up.

“Jeez. Look at him. He said he was a god, and honestly? Looking like that? I believe him.” He stands up and straightens his golden robe, walking to meet Loki halfway and turn him right back around again. “Okay, um. Party’s over for me! You people— you all keep having fun now, you hear? Night!”

He shoots a flippant wink in Topaz’s direction and leads Loki out of the party.

She knows better than to follow.

The rest of the party takes both several hours and several days to wrap up, time being as nebulous as it is on Sakaar.

Topaz knocks on the Grandmaster’s door shortly after cleanup is completed, a clipboard of paperwork under her arm regarding the arena reconstruction for his Contest of Champions. The last match had ended with the monster wreaking havoc to its crucial infrastructure, and repairs were required before she would let anyone back into that building for another round.

The door hisses open and a yawning Grandmaster takes the clipboard and pen from her.

He seems completely normal, hair a sporadic yet controlled mess, makeup crisp, and clothes freshly laundered.

She still inclines her head and raises an eyebrow.

He finishes a looping signature and sees her face. Tapping a long index finger to his lips to silence her, he steps aside slightly so she can see to his enormous bed. Instead of what she’s expecting, perhaps a pale, exposed leg or a trail of garments on the floor, she sees Loki asleep on his back, still fully clothed with a book open on his chest.

“He’s been reading to me,” the Grandmaster says simply, as if this were anywhere near his typical behavior.

“Reading,” she says without inflection.

He snorts a quiet chuckle and whispers quieter. “Get uh, see if you can have someone draw up some specs for those twin daggers I mentioned.”

“Oh, so we’re thinking about _two_ knives now.”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re implying.”

Topaz steps out into the hall and he follows, letting the door shut softly.

She tilts her head back and forth for a moment, trying to find her words. “He’s different to you. You’re treating him differently.”

“What? In what— how so?”

“Your favorites are usually so... disposable.”

The Grandmaster picks at a chipping blue nail, his mouth set grimly. “Oh, no. He’s... This is a fleeting thing. Don’t worry. He’ll be gone in a week or so.”

She nods, satisfied for now. “A week then.”

“Of course, Topaz. How long have we known each other? You really think, even this mystery, could— could keep me entertained for longer than that? He’ll be melted in a week.”

In retrospect, she doesn’t know why she ever believed him.

Either a single day or perhaps two and a half weeks later, Loki is still around. And everything is different.

The two of them talk constantly. Loki’s soft, nearly inaudible voice occasionally floats down a hallway, followed by the Grandmaster’s hemming and hawing and frequent laughter.

Sakaarians everywhere seem to love Loki. They beg him again and again to tell the story of when he fell from the rainbow bridge or to share the account of when he pretended to die in his brother’s arms, and would he _please_ do the voices and pantomime too?

He finishes his show and sits down smugly, leaning easily into the Grandmaster’s side, who, for his part, wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him in closer.

Topaz nearly runs into Loki one night, right before a party, and he casually stops to talk to her without a hint of the anger or malice he’d seemed so full of before. When did he stop being afraid of her?

“En wants me to ask you to decorate in all orange and blue tomorrow,” he says smoothly, and she nearly trips into a passing worker.

When she spins to confront him, his face is still frozen in shock. “I... I mean, the Grandmaster,” he amends weakly, aware he’s given himself up.

“He told you,” she huffs; it’s not a question.

The Grandmaster has told only a handful of people his real name and allows none of them to actually use it.

She doesn’t enjoy even a moment of the party that night. Even when she gets to haul Scrapper-142 outside for trying to draw a weapon indoors.

When did it happen? How has she been so blind?

The next morning Topaz has the finished daggers to deliver. She knocks once at the Grandmaster’s chambers, but it’s Loki who answers.

The Grandmaster is nowhere in sight.

In a heartbeat of panic, she drops the wrapped gift and slams him into the wall again, reminiscent of their first meetings.

“Did you do it?” she hisses.

“Do... what?” he chokes back.

“What have you done to him?”

Loki’s eyes flash as his mind whirls a lightyear a second, trying to understand her anger.

She has no time for his games. “Are you still trying to overthrow him?”

His eyes widen now. His facial features have been more open and relaxed lately. Or maybe he’s been around long enough for her to get really good at reading him.

Now it’s Topaz’s turn to be shocked. He’s forgotten. He’s forgotten his mission. His plan. His game.

He isn’t still here to suck up to the Grandmaster? To take Sakaar for himself?

Mind clearer, she finally notices it now. Smudges of blue tucked next to Loki’s ear. And another, by his clavicle, half covered by his shirt. He’s not wearing pants.

The tension is broken by the Grandmaster coming out of the adjoining bathroom.

“Alright, Loki, as I was saying— Topaz! Good morning! Or is it afternoon...”

She pushes Loki out the door. “I need a moment to speak to him. In private.” Then she shuts the door and spins toward the Grandmaster. “A _week_. A _week_ you said. How long can it possibly take to figure out what’s under a glamour?”

“He’s a frost giant.”

“What?”

“A frost giant.”

“And what in the multiverse is that?”

“Uh... I’m not... entirely sure? He’s cold though! Ooh... _Brr_... So _cold_. And blue! He’s from Yo-yo Land or something.”

Topaz pinches her nose. “Blue?”

“Yeah. Got him to drop the glamour the third night we...” He blinks rapidly and looks left and right, like she’s supposed to know exactly what that means.

She’s not sure what it says about her that she does.

“He’s got legs a mile long,” the Grandmaster continues, like somehow _this_ is what she’s wanting to hear and not, _Oh, Topaz! You’re right! I shouldn’t trust this stranger I’ve been keeping around for far too long, and in fact I’ll go melt him down right now!_

“You let him call you En Dwi Gast,” she says, and it comes out more accusatory than she meant it to.

He sucks on his teeth for a second, hand extended like he’s about to say something he’s nervous about. “I mean... Billions of years old... You might as well settle down sometime, right?”

Topaz isn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

There’s a soft knock at the door. “I’m terribly sorry to bother, but could I at least come in and grab some pants?”

She leans down to pick up the dropped daggers, passing the package to the Grandmaster. “Knives are done. Both of them.”

He beams at her. “Thanks, Topaz.” Then he leans forward and gently kisses her forehead, right in the middle.

She struggles for a moment, trying to remain impassive, but a small smile finally cracks across her face.

The knocking starts again, so she open the door and grabs Loki’s shoulder a little roughly. “If I think you’re planning _anything_ , I’ll gut you with my bare hands.”

It’s as much of an approval as he’s ever going to get, and she thinks he knows it.

“Ohhhhh, Loki!” drawls the Grandmaster. “I’ve got you a little something!”

Loki barks a laugh. “En, so modest! I wouldn’t call it little.”

It takes a moment for the joke to register, but then the Grandmaster is chuckling as well. “Well.. if you really want it— ooh! I know. If you can beat me at a game of my choice... I’ll give it to you.”

Topaz shakes her head as she walks out and shuts the door behind her.

They’re completely ridiculous.

But they’re happy.

Both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> *loki voice* and then... i let go!
> 
> *drunk sakaarian laughter*


End file.
